


Break Your Little Heart

by Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Forgiveness, M/M, Song Title Fics, all time low - Freeform, fight, just a tiny bit, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya/pseuds/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have a row after a drunken night, in which they both cheat, and entirely regret it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Your Little Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is terribly un-edited, so all mistakes are mine. I apologize in advance. This was rushed. Spur of the moment, while using 'Break Your Little Heart' by All Time Low as inspiration. I may continue this, as a series, using song titles, in order to create little ficlets. Either way, I'm rambling, so I'll cut this short. I hope you enjoy, no matter the mistakes. Cheers! xx  
> ~ Anya

“Arsehole!”

“Sod!”

“Prick!”

“Cock!”

“Fucker!”

“Cheater!”

“Liar!”

John grit his teeth, clenching his eyes shut, unable to tolerate the abuse between Sherlock and himself any longer.

“I hate you.” Sherlock spat out the words, as if he was absolutely disgusted with them, his eyes wet, glistening with anger and hurt, and complete distress. It was a plea for change.

“Sherlock,” John began, drawing in a breath, and wetting his lips, in a petty, failing attempt to calm himself.

“Don’t you fucking dare, John.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m just angry.”

“Fuck. Stop it.”

“Sherlock, you know I’d never hurt you intentionally.”

“Stop it, John.”

“I was drunk. So were you. We both fucked up.”

“John!”

“I love you, and I’m not giving up on your, on us, just like that!”

Sherlock took a dangerous stride forward, backing John against the wall, and pressing tight against him.

“You always make me want to hit you less.” he muttered, his head falling, forehead resting against John’s shoulder, a silent sign of surrender.

“I make you forgive me.”

“I will always forgive you.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t get cocky, you git.”

John chuckled, his voice roughened and weak from shouting.

“She wasn’t even that nice, truthfully.”

“Really? Neither was mine.”

“Smelled awful. Too much perfume.”

“Mine had too much cologne.”

“She had too much makeup. And, I realized how goddam gay you’ve gotten me.”

Sherlock perked his head up, enough only to catch John’s, seemingly amused, gaze.

“How so?”

“Well, first off, I went to grab a nonexistent cock. That was awkward. Almost put my prick in the wrong place, and God, while being drunk, my coordination was a wreck. Then, oh, best of all, after I actually managed to find the right place, her breasts got so distracting. I was just staring at them like ‘doesn’t that hurt, them bouncing around like that?’ I didn’t even feel aroused. It was alcohol giving me my orgasm. I didn’t even know her name. Probably called out yours. Actually, no, she was so not like you. Way too loose. And, too loud. And wet.”

Sherlock braced a hand over his mouth, grinning as he let out a terribly satisfied laugh.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“I suppose so.”

“I’ll take it.”

“So, you forgive me?”

“Do you forgive me?”

“Did you enjoy it? With _Victor_?” John questioned, with a rudely stereotypical French accent, indirectly insulting the Frenchman further, even though he’s already spewed a few choice, quite unkind, words to him.

“No. He was terrible. Couldn’t even find my prostate. God, it was awful. I just went with it. Had to wank myself off. Wouldn’t have orgasmed without it.”

John’s turn to laugh, indefinitely.

“I love you, you know, Sherlock. I really do.” he announced, after a pleasant, lingering silence.

“I love you too. But, let’s not break each other’s ridiculous little hearts, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t advise you to.”

“Bugger.”

“Lover.”

After that, well, as Mrs. Hudson would say as she gossiped to Mrs. Turner, it was history. Lips found lips. Tongues found tongues. Feet shuffled and stumbled against the hardwood. Shaking hands nudged the bedroom door ajar, enough for two bodies to sneak inside, and bond their unfailing, absolute love, all over again.

Yes, every relationship is flawed. Faults, misunderstandings, mistakes, little nicks and slips. But, it’s always able to pull itself back together again. Somehow, as difficult as it may seem, after all that’s been done. It just, always, if the love is strong, and true, enough, fixes itself. Sews itself up, forming a wee scar that’ll stay littered with the multitude of others, until it fades to dark, as if it had never happened.

That’s what love is.

Love’s a confusing thing, but, it’s not impossible, which is nice.

Yes. Definitely nice.


End file.
